


rolling stone girls only wish for gold.

by thicklykeen



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Humanstuck, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kind of a slow burn, i started writing and it just didnt cross my mind :/, probably ooc sorry, terezi isn't blind she's past the legally blind limit though, this shit wild!, vriska serket makes a mixtape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-24 23:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16185662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thicklykeen/pseuds/thicklykeen
Summary: your name is terezi pyrope and you think you hate vriska serket.





	rolling stone girls only wish for gold.

You met her when you were seven and she had pushed you into a pool.

You’d claimed to hate her since, and you’d pulled at each other’s hair and pushed each other on the playground whenever you could. In middle school, seventh grade specifically, she’d punched you in the face and you hadn’t done anything back to her. You say you can sue her for battery and she just snorts, pulling her bag over her shoulders tighter and walking away. Your friends ask you where you got your bruise, and Karkat offers to punch the person who did it to you even though he can’t fight for shit. When you get into the car with your sister, she asks where you got the bruise from and you tell her from a girl at school. She says she’s going to tell Mom and you shrug lamely, you don’t feel like fighting back right now. Latula, true to her word, does tell your mom, and when she walks into your room right before you go to bed she asks if you’re okay. You shrug again, not really feeling up to talking. She nods, a tight smile gracing her face before she leans over and kisses the top of your head, smoothing your hair over and wishing you goodnight.

\----

When you’re fifteen, she shoves you into a locker.

You kick her in the shin and she stumbles backward. You grab your bag off the ground and march your way down the hallway, but she recovers quicker then you thought she would and she’s got you by the hook of your bag. The pull jerks you back and it hurts your shoulders. She doesn’t seem to care what happens to you. Somewhere deep down, you think that hurts you a little. Latula’s packed off to college, and your mom is increasingly becoming a workaholic, spending less time around you. You’ve learned to make yourself dinner, but you’ve only done it twice. Most days, you don’t want to get out of bed after school gets out so you order takeout instead. You think your mom would be ashamed of your unhealthy eating, but she hasn’t spoken up about the pizza boxes and other take-out boxes littering the apartment and nearly overflowing in the trash can.

\----

You’re sitting on the stairs of your apartment complex when she walks by. Her hair is in double french braids. You hate that the navy blue of her hair looks good, that it suits her. It makes you want to punch yourself in the face. You stand, getting up to go into your building before she can notice you, but maybe your movement is what attracts her attention.

“‘Rez,” she says, her voice lilting towards the end. You huff and clench your fists. You’ve made it three years without punching her, but you don’t know if you’ll be able to not do it this time.

“Don’t call me that,” you say. The words are spiteful, and when you turn to look at her, she has a hand pulled up to her heart.

“You wound me, Pyrope, truly,” she says, sarcasm dripping through her voice. You clench your hands again, your nails create little crescent moons in your palms. You’re saved, by some grace of God, by your mother who had taken off today.

“Dinner’s ready,” she says, approaching you. You nod and follow her, but you don’t miss the look she gives Vriska.

\----

She finds you in the locker room one day, sitting on the bench. You’re the only one in there, and you don’t think it would hurt if you punched her right then and there. She’s wearing a blue sweater, and you notice that the roots of her brown hair are growing in. Her nails tap against her phone as she almost, almost, walks past you. She smirks when she notices you, and you want to curl up in a ball and die. You’re tired, you’re just fucking tired of everything. You miss your sister, but you had an argument with her a week ago and she’s refusing to talk to you, and your mother hasn’t taken off from work in almost two months _and_ she’s been working over.

You’re fucking tired and hate everything.

“Don’t even say a fucking word,” you say when she opens her mouth. She quirks an eyebrow up at you as you pack your bag.

“What’s the matter, dear Pyrope? Mommy not loving you enough?” She asks. You almost punch her, almost shove her into the lockers. You turn around and look her in the eyes, your knuckles white from how hard you're gripping your bag.

“Fuck you.”

\----

She sits next to you at lunch the next day. Neither of you talks to each other.

\----

She continues to sit next to you at lunch for the next month. She talks sometimes, but you tell her to shut the fuck up a lot. You don’t care what she has to say.

\----

A month later, she shows up at your apartment complex stairs. The air is chilly, and you’re bundled in one of Latula’s old sweaters. They’re bigger than yours, since she’s bigger than you, and they’re a lot more comfortable than yours anyways. You still haven’t talked to Latula since your fight. You think it’s not your fault for not talking to her because she’s the one who started the petty fucking argument, so she should be the one to apologize for it. Your heart is aching to give her a call, though. Vriska kicks you in the shin to get your attention. You nearly shout at her, but she looks sympathetic and you don’t know when you started crying, but you had. You cry over not talking to Latula a lot more than you’d like to admit.

“What’s up?” She says, plopping beside you. You don’t say anything, hoping your cold silence will make her go away. You’re wrong. She stays there for two hours, just sitting with you. When she stands to leave, she doesn’t do anything to you. She just tilts her head to the side and raises an eyebrow.

“I thought I had you figured out, Pyrope. Looks like I was wrong.”

\----

A week after that, she grabs your bony wrist during lunch and you jerk away from her touch. You regret doing it, missing the feeling of her hand on your skin. Vriska’s the only touch you’ve felt in months, and you suddenly miss your mom and your sister a lot more. You pick your bag up and walk to the bathroom and lock yourself in a stall. You cry. You really cry, ugly sobs that you can’t contain anymore. You try to control them when you hear the sound of shoes against the floor, and suddenly, Vriska slides into your stall. She shivers when she stands, a look of disgust on her face. You wipe your eyes and nose, getting up to leave the stall. She blocks your exit.

“Okay, enough fucking around, what’s up with you?” She asks.

You punch her in the face.

“What’s up with me? Why the fuck should I tell you, huh? You haven’t fucking left me alone since I was seven, Vriska. Seven! You don’t deserve to know what’s going on with me. You’re just a fucking bitch who likes to shove me around like there’s no goddamn tomorrow,” you heave. Vriska’s face twists, a look of hurt flashes across her face and that sets off a fucking fire of satisfaction inside your stomach.

She looks pretty, you think.

\----

She ends up avoiding you for the rest of the week. You think you’re supposed to feel good about that, but you don’t.

\----

She’s sitting on your apartment steps the next week, fiddling with her thumbs when you get home. Your eyes are bruised purple from lack of sleep. You’ve given up on it. Nightmares plague your sleep too often that you’ve just buried yourself neck deep in work. You feel like you’re drowning and no one is helping you back up. You think this is what your mom feels like.

You should call Latula.

“Pyrope,” she says when you sit beside her.

“Hey,” you say. It’s not angry or bitter, just tired.

“Heard you and that Gamzee dude crashed and burned, you okay?” She asks. You shrug. Every day for the past two months has been a bad day for you and maybe that’s what soured your and Gamzee’s relationship. Or maybe it was the fact that he was never really that kind to you. Vriska looks over at you as you lean against the railing of the stairs.  
“Seriously, Terezi. Are you okay?”

You get up and walk into your apartment.

\----

Vriska showing up at your stairs happens almost every day. She only misses if it’s too cold for her or if it’s raining. The cold weather has finally settled in, but she tries to show up as often as she can.

“Hot waters out at my house,” she says one day in November. You snort and glance at her. She looks so nonchalant about it. Deep down, you think she’s bitter about it, you _hope_ she’s bitter about it. You think that makes you a bad person.

“Least your family’s around,” you say. Vriska snorts this time.

“Hilarious, really,” she says.

She gets up and leaves this time.

\----

She’s not at your step the next day. You think you feel sad.

\----

You want to tear down every fucking mirror in your house. You’ve resorted to throwing blankets over them. You can’t stand your tired face in the mirror anymore. You hate your reflection, you hate your eyes, you hate everything about you.

You end up crying on the bathroom floor for two hours. You throw up twice. Your mom finds you there at eleven o’clock and she walks over to comfort you, but you scramble away from her.

“No! Fuck you! You don’t get to do this! Where have you been for me the other times I’ve been like this? Oh, right, work. You’ve been at work. Don’t interrupt me! I’m falling apart, Mom. I know I am because I’m watching it happen and I can’t stand it anymore! I haven’t talked to Latula in two months, Mom. _Two fucking months_. I miss you! I miss Latula! But you know what? Neither of you are here for me. I can take care of myself,” your voice rises and falls through your speech. You don’t hate your mom or your sister, you just… miss them.

You shove your way out of the bathroom.

\----

You don’t go to school the next day. You know the school will call your mom, but frankly, you don’t care. You don’t get out of bed for the rest of the day. When your mom gets home, she’s early you think, she knocks on your door. You don’t do anything. The door creaks when it opens and your bed dips when someone sits on your bed.

“Hey, ‘Rez,” that’s not your mom’s voice.

“‘Tula?” You ask and turn on your side. And to your surprise, there’s your sister. The dark brunette of her roots is growing into the faded bright red she’d dyed it. Your eyes well up with tears when you sit up, wrapping your sister in your arms.

“I’m sorry,” you say. It’s mumbled into her shoulder and said through your sobs. Latula rubs your back and you hear her sniffle, but you can’t tell if she’s sobbing like you are.  
“It’s alright, it’s alright. I’m sorry for what I said all those months back. Fuckin’... I’m sorry I didn’t call you or come and see you sooner,” Latula says, and you can hear the way her voice wavers. You don’t want to hear her cry, and you’re sure she doesn’t want to hear you cry, but you aren’t stopping any time soon.

“God, it’s so good to see you,” you say, pulling away from the hug and wiping your eyes. Latula smiles and wipes her own eyes.

“Mom called me last night, she was upset. She cried a little bit, told me that you weren’t okay. So I just… hopped on the train that got here fastest after my last class today,” she says. “You been to school today?” You shake your head when she asks this.

“Might explain why that Vriska girl is out on the steps. I told her to get lost, she didn’t budge,” Latula says. You look at her, bewildered by the fact that Vriska is at your apartment complex’s stairs, especially on a day that you didn’t come to school.

“She tends to do that,” you say, your face softening. Latula quirks an eyebrow up, a small look of surprise crossing her face.

“You two getting along now?” She asks.

“I punched her,” you shrug. Latula snorts.

“She probably deserved it,” she says. You laugh, wiping your nose again.

“You hungry? We could go grab something to eat. I still can’t cook for shit and I don’t know when Mom’ll get home,” Latula says. You nod, your stomach rumbling, and you finally notice how hungry you are.

“Yeah, yeah, just let me get ready. Also, uh… tell Vriska to stay outside for a few, only if she’s still out there,” you say. Latula nods, but you don’t miss the curious look that ghosts her face.

When you exit your apartment with Latula, you tell her to meet you at the car and sit down beside Vriska.

“Hey, Pyrope. Missed you at lunch today,” she says, looking off into the horizon. You scoff at her, only risking a small glance to look at her face. Her cheekbones are nice, you notice, but there’s a bruise forming over her left one. You want to run your finger over it, ask who did it to her, but you don’t. The thought makes you feel a little sick, even.

“Bet ya did,” you say, sarcasm laced in your voice. Vriska scratches the cheek that doesn’t have a bruise on it, and you realize she looks a little hurt.

“I’ll see you around,” she says.

\----

When Latula leaves on Sunday, you’re rebuilding your relationship with not only her but your mother. The one with Latula is happening a little easier, and she promises to come and visit as often as she can. You cry when she leaves and this time you let your mom hold you when you cry. You’re trying to shut fewer people out, trying to stop pushing them away, and you’re hoping it’s going to work out in the long run. Your first goal is to get Karkat back in your life. You hadn’t really talked since the two of you broke up in eighth grade.

On Monday, instead of sitting at your lunch table alone, as usual, you anxiously walk over to Karkat’s table. Gently, you kick the seat beside him to garner his attention. He turns around, glaring at you because you’ve most definitely interrupted one of his rants.

“What do you want?” You nearly flinch. Still abrasive as ever, you see.

“Can, uh... Can I sit here?” You ask, tapping one of your fingers on your tray. Karkat raises a suspicious eyebrow but pats the seat beside him. You sit beside him and he quickly gets back into his spiel about something you don’t particularly care about. You don’t spot Gamzee until your laughing at one of Karkat’s jokes a little too hard, and when you notice him your body tenses. Your laughing ceases and you start to shake. Gamzee gives you a small wave and a lazy smile.

“You okay, Terezi?” Karkat asks. You nod and swallow thickly.

“Yeah, I’m feeling a little sick though. I’m gonna head to the bathroom,” you force out as steadily as you can. He nods, not completely believing your story, but lets you go. As you make your way to the bathroom, breathing becomes a bit harder, but you manage to keep it under control.

Once you're in the bathroom, you lean on the sink and try to regain your composure. You hear the soft patter of shoes on the floor and you half expect it to be some girl who watched you leave. You wouldn’t put it past Feferi Peixes to come check up on you. When you’d rushed off into the bathroom during fourth-period history one day, she’d followed after you and did her best to comfort you as you shook and cried. It’s not Feferi, though. It’s Vriska Serket, with her blue hair in two braids and a navy blue jacket tied around her waist.

“Terezi, dear God, what happened?” She asks. You brush her off. She’s the only person that you won’t let in, you can’t let her in.

“Nothing,” you say. She lets out a distressed noise and bangs her hand on the wall. You flinch.

“Jesus Christ, Terezi! For once in your fucking life, let me help you!” She says. She sounds messed up over this, and you don’t like the twinge in your gut that makes you feel guilty for not telling her anything. You keep your lips sealed. It seems like she gives up and she walks out of the bathroom. That hurts. Maybe you are a lost cause.

\----

You can’t bring yourself to sit with Karkat on Tuesday or the rest of the week. You go back to your regular seat next to Vriska and she talks more.

\----

She shows up to your apartment the first day of winter break, and she’s bundled in a thick coat that looks a little too small for her, but she’s missing a scarf. You’re not really sure why she’s out there on the steps, but you just shrug it off and tap her shoulder to get her attention when you come out.

“If you’re gonna come here, come inside the lobby with me. It’s like, what? Fifty-six degrees?” You say, tugging her by the hood of her jacket inside. She makes a surprised yelp when you pull her and you let out a cackle.

“What brings you to the residence of the Pyrope’s today, Ms. Serket? Didn’t expect you’d wanna see me out of school,” you say. Vriska snorts and kicks some snow off her boots and shrugs.

“I dunno. This’ll probably be the only day I’ll see you this week,” Vriska says. You hum and nod. There’s a prickly feeling in your gut that makes you a little sad you won’t see her the rest of the week, but you’re also okay with it.

\----

Latula comes over for Christmas and New Year’s, and she gets both you and your mom a small present. She said she got you what she could, but she’s a broke college student and couldn’t really afford much. She got your mother a leatherbound journal and a new set of pens and she got you a necklace with your zodiac sign on it. You hesitantly give her the new jacket you got her, and when she opens it, she grins so wide you’re sure her cheeks hurt. Your mom got her a new skateboard, and it takes you by surprise when she says she was in need of a new one. Your mom gets you a pair of sunglasses, bright red and pointed near the end, and she also gets you a new book.

“Why the sunglasses?” You ask. Your mom shrugs, picking up some wrapper and throwing it in the trash bag she brought out.

“They reminded me of you,” she says with a smile.

\----

Vriska ends up on your doorstep the last day of winter break. She’s holding an issue of _Rolling Stone_ and she’s holding a Starbucks cup. You didn’t know she liked either of those things. There’s something else in her hand, but looking at her from the back is obscuring what it is. You drop beside her.

“Merry late Christmas,” she says.

“Right back at you,” you say. She sets her cup down and hands you the _Rolling Stone_ issue along with something wrapped in paper that’s clearly more Halloween themed than Christmas.

“See ya Monday,” she says, picking her cup back up and backing off. You wave goodbye and she blows you a kiss and winks. You chuckle.  
You think your walls for her are starting to crumble.

\----

When you get to the confinement of your room, you open the present she gave you after placing the magazine on your desk. You plop down in your rolling chair and tear the paper off of the gift in excitement before you can even think twice about opening it. It’s a CD. The clear casing of the CD is covered in little drawings of spiders, and that makes you smile. The CD is simply titled ‘ _PYROPE_ ’. The writing is in her messy scrawl that you’re used to seeing, the uppercase a little neater than when she writes in lowercase.

She’s made you a mixtape. A _mixtape_.

You find yourself grinning like an idiot.

\----

You don’t stop listening to the CD. It’s filled with songs that are low in tune and have a rhythmic beat to them. Sometimes, you fall asleep to the CD, the songs lull you to sleep and you think about how she knew what type of music you liked. Your favorite is track twelve, “Gooey” by Glass Animals. You’ve read the issue of _Rolling Stone_ twice, and you’ve written in it a little, too. You kind of feel shitty that you didn’t get Vriska anything, but she sprung a surprise gift on you so you don’t feel that bad.

“I really like the mixtape you made me,” you tell her when you sit next to her on Monday. She looks surprised, but she also looks excited.

“Really?” She says, excitement leaking through her voice. You grin and nod.

“Yeah! You know that song, “Gooey”? It’s my favorite,” you say. Vriska’s eyes light up.

“Not what I expected, but I’ll take it,” she says. She asks if you read the _Rolling Stone_ magazine, and when you nod, she looks like she’s going to pop out of her seat. You love the way she’s actually smiling, not the nasty smirk she always wears when she talks to people. It’s nice to see something different for once.

You spend the rest of lunch talking about the magazine and the mixtape.

\----

You invite her over Saturday after you’ve exchanged numbers and you’ve really started talking. You two get along a lot better than you originally thought, sharing quite a few interests. You also know that you’ll be bored all weekend since Latula can’t come over because she’s got some big skating tournament. You’d said you wished you could go, but Mom is working over again and you can’t drive yet. She was understanding, and you still wished her luck over the phone.

Vriska says she’ll see if she can come over on Saturday, and when she hops on your bus instead of her own, you assume that her mom said she could stay over. The bus ride is spent sharing earbuds and sending jabs to each other in the least aggressive way possible. You nearly fall asleep on Vriska, but as soon as you are drowsy enough to actually fall asleep, you’re at your stop. You huff and pull her out of the seat with you, she stumbles and you cackle, rushing off of the bus. When she’s beside you on the sidewalk, she steals your glasses and you screech in surprise. You can’t see anything now, all blurry blobs, and your swatting at her to give you your glasses back. Her own glasses are on her shirt, so you swipe them from her. She lets out a startled cry, and you put the glasses on your face. Her’s are wire and not plastic like yours are, and the black of the wire is less noticeable than your bright red frames.

“Good God, Terezi! How blind are you?” She asks, tearing your glasses off her face and rubbing her eyes. Her eyes aren’t nearly as bad as yours, so you snatch your glasses back and hand her her own glasses. She mutters thanks and slips her glasses back on her face.

“I’m very blind,” you say, pointing a finger her direction after you slip your glasses back on your face. She lets out a breathy laugh and you feel your knees go weak for a second, but you regain yourself and smile.

“I can tell,” she says, rubbing her eyes again. You snort and continue your trek back to your apartment.

\----

It’s two a.m. when she rolls over on her side to look at you. Your eyes are closed and you crack one open when she pokes you in the ribs.

“I’m hungry,” she whispers. You sigh and get up, who knew a girl could eat this much.

“You’ve literally raided half the kitchen, how are you still hungry?” You ask her, rubbing your eyes. She shrugs and stands up too. Your mom is asleep in her room, and you pray you don’t wake her up considering how fucking loud Vriska’s footsteps are.

“Jesus Christ, it’s like your ankles are weighted down,” you say. She lets out a quiet growl.

“Shut up,” she says. When you make it into the kitchen, she begins her search for food. She closes the cabinets quickly and quietly, getting leftover pizza from the fridge.

“We’re not heating that up, I hope you know,” you say. She shrugs and puts two slices on her plate. While you're in here, you might as well get some yourself. Vriska bites into one of her slices while you get yours, then you begin to make your way back upstairs. When you get to your room and you've settled again, you’ve got a card game out and you’re trying to keep your laughter down to the point you’re crying. Vriska is trying to keep her laughing quiet, too, so all that is escaping her lips are snorts and wheezy laughs. When you regain yourselves, both your faces are flushed and you're wiping your face. Vriska’s hair is a mess, and you want to thread your fingers through it and braid it. It looks like it hasn’t been brushed in a while though. Vriska gives you a soft smile, leaning on her hand that she’s rested on her knee.

She’s very, very pretty, you think.

She’s sat her cards on the floor, the backs up so you can’t see the numbers and she’s fidgety. You raise an eyebrow up at her, and she leans forward. Her lips are soft when they meet yours, and your cards are soon forgotten on the floor. Your hands meet her face and hers are on your hips, gently tugging you closer to her. It’s not what you expected Vriska to do, but you aren’t angry. When she pulls away, you pull a finger along her lips, your foreheads still pressed together.

“Your lips taste like pizza,” you grin.

\----

She’s at your stairs on the last day of school. She’s holding another issue of _Rolling Stone_ and when you sit down beside her, she shoves it into your hands.  
“For me? How amazing, Serket,” you smile. She rolls her eyes, but her lips tug up into a smile nonetheless.

“My mom said that girls who like _Rolling Stone_ only wish for gold. Guess you’re my gold.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @funkyhypnotic


End file.
